Chip Dangerstone, Dragon Zoologist
by Thoth's Quill
Summary: Watch as we delve in the the life and adventures of the suave (yeah, right), smooth (like a block of cement), and not to mention charming Chip Dangerstone, Dragon Zoologist (Rated M for language and other stuff as the story progresses!)


**HEY FOLKS! WHAT'S UP! FOR THOSE THAT READ MY STUFF ON THE REGULAR (lol funny cuz I'm the most irregular writer I know), HI I'M NOT DEAD!**

**FOR THOSE THAT DON'T, HELLO! CALL ME TQ!**

**This right here is an idea that I had for a while. A Potterverse story, set in something like 2025 or 2030 ish? Fairly modern day, but NOT about Harry Potter at all. Just a story all on its own about a Dragon Handler! Consider this to be a pilot prologue type dealio and if y'all like it, I'll do more! I hope you enjoy it!**

**-TQ Out!**

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Funny things end up happening when a kid who grew up on the Jurassic World Movies starring Chris Pratt gets into Hogwarts and then comes out of it seven years later with an O in Care of Magical Creatures, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Transfiguration and Ancient Runes, and an EE in Charms and Herbology, and A in pretty much everything else. Funny things like, oh I don't know, the irresistible urge to become a Dragon Handler. Actually, now that I think about it, it isn't really all that surprising. Growing up in Gryffindor, hearing stories about Charlie Weasley and hanging around Hagrid would do it too, really. But hey, that's how the chips fall on the table, and here we are now. Cornered. By a rather miffed Peruvian Vipertooth. In the middle of the Amazonian Jungles. With my wand securely in my holster instead of in my hand. When I say cornered by a miffed Peruvian Vipertooth, I mean sitting against a simply enormous ficus staring with disappointment at a supremely annoyed foot tall baby Peruvian Vipertooth that was abandoned by its mother as being the runt of the litter of eggs it had laid. Common Vipertooth behavior, really. But judging by how this particular species of dragon was rather threatened, the little gremlin had to be saved. So here I was, in the Greater Amazonian Dragon Preserve, sitting Indian style on the floor against a tree with a Vipertooth baby that was rather eager to bite at my dragonhide boots than an actual bucket of brandy and chicken blood (a mix that most baby dragons should drink, according to _Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit_).

I had this. I'd done this a thousand times. Toss a bit of meat, as an incentive to the order. Brandy with chicken blood seemed to be a favorite when it comes to baby dragons, right? "Roll." I said frowning as I waited patiently for him to do as told. "C'mon now, no dawdling, Loki, roll." Loki, for his part was not amused.

I was lucky that I was wearing Dragonhide boots. Vipertooth dragons aren't called that for nothing. They're one of the few dragons that don't use their flames for offensive purposes, instead relying on their venomous bite. But hey, I had dragonhide boots and the little shit's fangs weren't tough enough to break through that _just_ yet. Don't get me wrong. Adolescent Vipertooths are more than capable of shredding my dragonhide stuff, but babies? Nah.

Speaking of Vipertooths, there's some speculation that Vipertooths aren't true dragons but a distant relative of the Quetzalcoatl, the feathered serpents found in Mexico. And honestly? I can see why. Those're poisonous flying reptiles too. Hey, maybe I'll write a paper about how Vipertooths are the hidden link between the Quetzalcoatl line and the draconic line of magical reptiles.

"Loki giving you trouble? Still?" A cheerful high pitched voice called out from the tents close by, pulling me out of my dreams of fame upon discovering the long lost link between species. This voice belonged to a Filipina witch I'd met when I first started on the job. Daniela Compamanes. She was short. Very, _very_, short. A five foot nothing ball of fight and cheer who'd started off her career by tranquilizing and transporting a rather vicious Antipodean Opaleye to Ayer's Rock Preserve. It's kinda funny how we're the cliché sort of best friends when she's so short, and I'm pretty much the next best thing to three week old Ukrainian Ironbelly. Y'know, because they grow the fastest to maturity of any dragon species, so they tend to get pretty big by three weeks.

I looked up to Daniela and rolled my eyes. "Yeah, laugh it up, Dani. Loki's not hungry. Again."

"I can see that. Except he's chewing on your boot. Again."

"What can I say? I keep my stuff alluring."

"Get yourself a girlfriend, Chip Dangerstone."

"What about you? Isn't your mom sending you her fiftieth howler about how you haven't brought her a grandkid?"

"Fuck that. Relationships are icky."

"Icky, huh? Well, I guess I'm lucky then. Any girl would dig me. I mean c'mon. I work with dragons, I'm fashionable, I work with dragons, I've got great stories, I work with dragons, I have a cool name-"

"With your name you sound like an Indiana Jones rip-off." She pointed out drolly.

"Hey! I take offense to that! He never got to ride a dragon!" To be fair, she was right. I have no idea what my mum and dad were smoking when they decided to name me, but I swear it must've been LSD.

"He was also a fictional character."

I pouted. "C'mon, Dani. Let me have my fun."

"And let you allow Loki to keep ignoring that bucket of baby mix? Don't think so."

I rolled my eyes and got to my feet, shaking the left leg until Loki let go and rolled over onto his back, looking up at me in a manner that was disturbingly doglike. Was he absolutely sure he was a Peruvian Vipertooth and not a Golden Retriever? Most Vipertooths, if accustomed to human proximity, end up behaving like cats. Huh. Maybe it's just because he imprinted on me. I wouldn't put it past him. Just my luck, right?

I grabbed the bucket and nudged it over to him and the liquid inside sloshed disgustingly and sent up fumes. I had to crinkle my nose for a moment. "C'mon! Up! Up, up, up, up!" I called out, trying to get him to spread his wings out. His feathered, iridescent green tinted wings. He let out a short hiss, then a growl before flapping twice, managing to hover a foot in the air before lunging down and practically falling face first into the bucket, tackling into it, like dragons usually do with their live prey; best teach 'em young how to hunt, right? I forgot, of course, to teach him how to roll over. Loki decided that he was finally hungry and after a bit of screeching, he dug in, practically burying his head into the bucket, the contents of which were vanishing alarmingly quickly now. A few moments later, his weight shifted and he managed to plop out and land on his haunches. He let out a rather loud burp, mouth open to the point that his jaws were unhinged. Yes, folks! Vipertooths can unhinge their jaws! You heard it here first.

Anyways, that's how my story begins! Hi. My name's Chip Dangerstone. And this is the story of how I managed to survive an adventure with a pet dragon my best friend.


End file.
